ANOTHER CASUALTY

 

I was eight years old when my grandfather died;

too young-both of us.
It was a hot August night, three years and fourteen days since that terrible event.

He suffered more than anyone knew.

A quiet man, not one to complain; he bore his burden in silence.

Others articulated their anger at what happened; but not him.

Though we could see the damage it was doing within.

 

The end, when it came was sudden.

My grandmother said he was still warm when she kissed him goodbye.

His death was a terrible blow at a difficult time in our lives.

My mother had no siblings to help her with her grief;

and she had "enough on her plate" as it was.

 

I watched the model railway, his pride and joy, being packed up and taken away.

Many times, I stood watching, while his clever hands assembled the tiny parts; waiting in anticipation for the little train to start.

I grieved for its loss; and for all that could have been.